


Fixation Or Psychosis

by hid4n



Series: Drabbles [5]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Lust, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hid4n/pseuds/hid4n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a matter of patience, waiting for Midorima to return his feelings – Takao is just desperately hoping at this point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixation Or Psychosis

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a huge fan of angst (meaning: I never read it) but I had the idea of angst for these two, so I decided to write a small drabble for it. (Woo, first try at angst!)  
> I might write more small pieces for this idea, so if I do, I'll add it as additional "chapters" to this piece.

He’s quick, and it’s painless when the first finger pushes inside.

It’s not nearly enough though – the last time they had sex is still fresh in his mind, the comfortable sensation of being full while Midorima found a desirable pace and pounded into him.

_Patience._

The single finger, pushing and rubbing and _writhing_ against his warm insides makes him so desperate. The sensation is foreign and almost just forgotten. If he just closed his eyes, he could recall all the times he had felt Midorima stretch him like this, and the memory builds him up. His heart is already quivering, like a frightened bird in its wire cage, and he doesn’t dare try to settle it. In a twisted sense, it’s a treat. As Midorima violates him, he knows why he clings onto this uncomfortable sensation: It was like the briefest taste of heaven – and that’s what the man between his legs was – but greed was such an ugly thing. It made people ugly. It made _him_ ugly.

_Unappealing._

Waiting for the second finger is almost hell; it feels like an eternity passes while he endures – enjoys? – the slick sounds coming from underneath the thin sheet. There’s probably too much lubrication, but it’s not a surprise... not to him, at least. It’s sticking to his thighs and dribbling onto the mattress beneath him, but he can’t force himself to hate the feeling. And anyway, the humidity makes it almost a lost feeling, though, so it’s okay. As long as he doesn’t protest about it, he can’t lose _this_ , right?

_Wrong._

And now there’s blood on his lip – it’s trickling from where his incisors are digging into the soft flesh, breaking the skin and making a mess. He almost wishes the scene would get him some sort of reaction – a pause; perhaps even a gentle, concerned hand – but it doesn’t. He could bleed rivers and he’d never get more than a second glance.

The second finger makes him want to whimper, but he doesn’t. When it comes, it’s like a wave of relief, reassurance, a twisted sort of reward. The deeper Midorima’s fingers go, the more poisonous bliss blooms in his chest. It’s constricting – painful, even – but he welcomes it, basking in the scarce sensation. He’s so preoccupied, he almost doesn’t notice the hot breath licking at the inside of his thigh, but he does, and it’s exciting, sending a jolt of searing arousal to his already erect cock.

He can’t really remember when his jacket came off, but the dark fabric is wrinkled, Midorima’s pale, lithe fingers clutching at the cloth like a physical lifeline. The tape clinging to his fingers was coming loose; perhaps there was too much moisture for the adhesive to work correctly. It didn’t seem like Midorima cared, not with his tongue making a map of the unblemished, toned thighs before him.

_Bitter._

That’s what he was. The word only came to him every once in a long while – that was, every time Midorima spread his legs like this and made quick work of his body, destroying his resolve and leaving him with an even bigger mess to clean up.

_Look at me._

But Midorima doesn’t. His hair is slightly messy, glasses sliding down the straight bridge of his nose. Long, green eyelashes kiss his smooth, taut cheeks, beautiful even when he’s doing such an ugly thing.

There’s absolutely nothing beautiful about what they do.

Midorima’s teeth sink gently into the curve of his thigh, and all it does is remind him that it isn’t the bite of a lover. The prickling behind his eyes starts again and its insufferable. It takes all of his power not to let the sensation proceed any further as Midorima covers his thighs in temporary reminders of their relationship – or lack thereof.

The sweat they perspire and the body fluids they share mean nothing. An hour after they’re done, exhausted bodies having been cast underneath the hot stream of water in their separate showers, there won’t be any evidence to prove that they had shared this intimacy.

And that is the very fact that destroys Takao from the inside out.


End file.
